Drake's Obsession with Guns
by Just Anny
Summary: Drake is a psychopath; there's no doubt about it. He's a sadist; also that is true. But every story must have it's root, including Drake's. This is how it began, how it continued and how it ended. These are the untold stories of Drake Merwin and his obsession with guns. Collection of (one)shots.


**Drake's Obsession with Guns**

**_Shot one: The Beginning _**

"You're it!", the boy hit the back of Drake's head and laughed as he ran away. Drake growled and ran after him. He would pay for that.

He had no problem catching up with Jimmy and got his revenge by pushing him against a tree. Jimmy clutched the back of his head and tears sprang into his eyes. Drake grinned. Serves him right. Though his grin faded, when Jimmy ran off to his parents.

Drake saw Jimmy's parents walking toward him and ran. He didn't want any trouble with the grownups. His father would kill him if he found out. Drake dodged the trees and boughs that came into his way. He didn't know where he was going, but he knew that area pretty well, so he was sure that he would find his way back eventually.

He was in a park, after all.

But as he was running, Drake felt a burning pain in his arms. He looked at them while still running and frowned when he saw the scratches. Blasted twigs. Drake went to touch one of the redder scratches and hissed. That one burned like hell.

Drake was so occupied with the scratches, that he didn't notice the tree root that jutted out of the ground and tripped. Drake yelped and fell face first onto the ground. Apparently, dirt didn't taste that well. The blonde spit out some dirt and wiped his mouth with a disgusting look on his face.

His knee hurt and when he looked at it, Drake could see his pants torn with blood seeping out of the wound. He bit his lip, but refused to cry over such a small wound. He did was his Grandpa Drake Senior had once told him to do: 'Don't cry over your pain. That's not what men do. Men are the ones who are strong, who don't have to feel any pain, because they only inflict pain on others. Why cry if you don't have a reason to? Or are you implying that you're weak, boy?'

At the time, Drake had just shaken his head and gone away. Grandpa Drake certainly had his way with words. But even though Drake had known that what he had said was true, the young, nine year old blonde hadn't been able to understand why the world had to be so unfair.

But he was older now. Ten full years to be exact. And even though Drake still didn't know the answer, he was determined to follow his grandfather's demands. Grandpa Drake was much older, so he would probably also know better, right?

Besides, he would always show Drake cool toys for him to play with. Cool toys that Drake's father had, but that he wasn't allowed to even touch because his mother was opposed to it.

Cool toys like the one he was seeing right now.

Drake's eyes widened as he saw it between some leaves on the ground. He looked around him and quickly picked it up. Though dirty, the metal was still shining slightly. Drake inspected it thoroughly to see if this was indeed a _real _gun and not one of those stupid plastic things that some of his classmates had.

It was though, he was sure of it.

But just when Drake was about to try the gun out, he heard his mother calling his name somewhere in the distance. Apparently, the park was bigger than he had originally thought. Drake took a haste decision and put the gun in his pants, before running toward the sound.

He had already forgotten the pain in his arms and knee.

* * *

"Don't you ever run off like that ever again!", his mother scolded him as they walked back home. Drake was limping slightly while carrying a shopping bag. His knee was still hurting, though less than before. Not that his mother cared. She hadn't even taken a look at it.

"Yes mom…"

"Don't you 'yes mom' me! Next time, you won't get away with it so easily, young man."

"As if being forced to go shopping with you isn't worse enough", Drake muttered behind his breath. His mother either didn't hear it or just ignored it.

"Do you know how hard it was to appease that boy's mother?", she continued with her rant. "Impossible! At least I got off with saying that you would apologize to Jimmy when you two meet again. Which you will most definitively do when you go to school tomorrow! Or do I need to talk to your father about this?"

Drake shook his head. Though he detested his mother, his feelings for his father were even worse. But this time, the feeling was mutual. He did _not_ want to anger is father, just when he was about to ask him a favor.

His mother ruffled with the keys, before opening the door in front of them. Drake walked inside and discarded the shopping bag somewhere on the floor. His mother put the other bag on the table and grabbed something, before going back to Drake.

It was a plaster.

"Put this on your knee and go and change upstairs. I'll go and see if I have something that I can fix that gap with."

Drake nodded numbly and took the plaster from her. So she _had _seen it. Not that he would think any better of her either way.

He ran upstairs and to his room and closed the door behind him, before leaning against it. He took a deep breath. After taking out the gun and putting it on his bed (it was still dirty though, so he would probably get his mother pissed because of dirty bed sheets – not that he cared), Drake changed his pants into some khaki shorts, posted the plaster on his knee and took the torn up and dirty one with him downstairs.

His mother was already sitting on one of the lazy chairs in the living room. On the table next to her were some denim patches, a mini pillow with all sorts of needles sticking out of it (Drake didn't know the proper name) and a dark blue yarn to match the color of his pants. Drake walked up to his mother and gave her the piece of clothing.

"Thank you, darling. Now, take care of the shopping bags while I'm busy fixing your mess, would you?" Drake gritted his teeth angrily. How dare his mother order him after belittling him like that?! He did _not _like being called 'darling'.

But Drake wisely held his tongue and did what he was told.

* * *

Drake was watching America's Funniest Home Videos when his father came home. It was 7 pm, much later than he should have come home, but Drake didn't care. He had used the time to clean his newfound gun and find a good way to ask his father that favor. His mother though, had been furious at his father for not being in time for dinner. Eventually, they had eaten without him.

"I'm home!" His father pulled out his jacket in the hallway and walked into the living room. He looked at his wife, who was reading a book in her couch-like chair, with a smile. "Now, what's for dinner?"

Drake's mother ignored him and he looked at her questioningly.

"What's wrong?"

His wife turned around and looked him angrily. "You are two hours late. What took you so long?"

"I had a few robbers to chase, you know. Saving the world and stuff. It's not like those ancient heroes you're always reading about stop midst-battle to go to their family to eat."

"They are mostly in another country fighting for their country!", Drake's mother exclaimed. "What you do isn't saving the world, it's catching people who are too pathetic to take care of themselves! And most of the time you even manage to fail to do so and with that put you and your family in danger."

"What do you want me to do?", his father asked desperately as he spread his arms. "I can't just quit my job. I'm still the one who makes all the money here."

Drake's mother took a deep breath to calm herself down. "All I want is for you to get home in time."

"I can't, not always."

"Well," his mother put her book away and stood up to walk toward the kitchen, "don't expect me cook dinner for you then. Oh, there isn't any food left for you either. I've already given it to the dog."

"We don't have a dog!", her husband called after her.

"I know!"

"Stupid bitch", Drake's father muttered behind his breath. Then, he locked eyes with Drake, who he had probably forgotten about. "Don't tell her I said that."

Drake shrugged. Normally, he would have told his mother instantly, but now Drake really needed to act friendly. So, he just continued watching the TV show.

Some kid was trying to reach the top of the climbing frame, while other children were racing him for it. When the kid reached the top, he called for his dad to throw a ball for him to catch. Of course, the ball bounced against his head, making him fall from the climbing frame and onto the other children. In the end, he was on top of a pile of groaning children while his dad laughed his ass off.

Drake chuckled. Some people were just too stupid for words. His father sat next to him and together they continued to watch the show. Drake bit his lip and glanced sideways to his father a few times. _Would now be the good time? What if he says no?_

Fuck it.

"Dad, can I ask you something?"

"What is it, Drake? I'm trying to watch a show here."

"When you catch the bad guys, do you also use a gun?"

"Of course Drake. Every police officer has to carry a gun, including the sheriff, which is me", his father said absentmindedly while still watching the show.

"I want to be like you someday."

His father turned to him and blinked a few times in surprise. "And why would that be?", he asked slowly, as if uncertain about what he should say or not.

"Because it's so cool; catching criminals and stuff! And guns are badass", Drake tried to act enthusiastic. "Can you teach me how to use a gun?"

There. He said it.

His father sighed. "Drake, you're way too young for that. Besides, your mother wouldn't approve."

"What if we won't tell mom? We can just keep it to ourselves. Mom won't even know! Please, dad? It will be a great opportunity to spend some more time with each other. You're always so busy with your work, that we barely have the time to do something together. It's like you aren't even my father anymore." Drake hoped he was convincing enough.

He smirked inside when he saw his father's resolve crumble before his eyes. He _knew _that would work. "But you're still so young…"

"What does age matter, dad? Wouldn't it be better if I already knew how to use a gun before anyone else? Then, when I join the police, I'll have a bigger chance of actually getting in _and _I'll be more experienced. Do you want to get in the way of my future, dad? Do you?"

His father sighed as if to give up the argument. "Alright, but only if you get yourself a gun. I won't give you one", was his last attempt. It was nearly impossible for someone to get a gun in this town, especially if you were a ten year old.

Drake grinned.

"I already got one", he said before he rushed upstairs to get it, leaving his father behind in bewilderment.

* * *

"Hold your gun with two hands and keep your dominant foot before you, so you're steadier. … Yes, just like that. Now bend your left arm. This will make it easier for you to aim. Here, let me help", Drake's father went to stand behind him and corrected his stance. "Now, aim. Try to aim a bit lower than the target, because the gun will shot up when you shoot."

Drake closed one eye and moved the gun in his hand slightly, until the barrel was just below the target. The target was a circle that was drawn on a tree with white chalk. They were in the forest just outside the town, because apparently ten year olds weren't allowed to shoot at the shooting range.

Stupid adults.

"Now, shoot."

Drake pulled the trigger and an enormous shooting noise reached his ears. He should have just worn those headphones his father had told him to wear. His hands shot up far more than he expected and the bullet didn't even hit the right tree!

He lowered his arms in frustration.

"Don't worry about not hitting the target. You did rather well for your first try", his father tried to soothe him.

"It didn't even hit the tree!", Drake exclaimed.

"Just try again", his father urged him on. "You'll do better if you just practice enough."

Drake put his frustrations aside and lifted the gun. He aimed this time a little bit more to the right and shot. The bullet didn't even come close to the target. Drake gritted his teeth and tried again. And again. And again.

Finally, at his sixth try, the bullet hit his target. It wasn't in the middle of the circle – not even close – but it was a starts.

He grinned at his father who nodded approvingly. "Well done, but still not enough. It could very well be a lucky shot. Try again until your bullets are out. The more practice, the better you'll become."

Drake's grin faded and he nodded. He shouldn't celebrate because of one shot.

He lifted his gun and shot.

* * *

**[A/N]: First of all, I'm sorry for my absentness for the last couple of weeks (ehhhh months) and totally neglecting my already ongoing stories, while starting a new one now. School has been busy before the summer holidays and I keep getting new ideas for stories (including this one and two others that I'll post soon enough). I'll try to update Musings of a Mastermind and True Power as soon as possible. **

**Now, as for this story. This will basically be a series of (one)shots about Drake and his obsession with guns. They'll be as chronological as possible. Try to see this as untold stories of Drake. **

**Also before you tell me that Drake's (maybe) OOC in this chapter, please keep in mind that he's 10 and still has to discover who he really is (aka; a sadistic psychopath).. After all, he truly began to show his sick mind after meeting the gaiaphage. **

**Hope you enjoyed it :)**

**'Till next time ^^**

**Xx Anny**


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